Pink white blossom

Crooked vine you have turned
At every turn, yet
You have yearned not of going back

Always instead to reach out, without end
Or fall away
Wither there, to die a quicker death

Curvaceous leaf; your sheaf, your shape
As her neck nape with pleasure gave
Strains of the toughest, twice turned cheek

Always instead to float until way past late
Or drip when clipped
Annotated as a signature, on the vase or cheque

Pink white blossom - you arrive unnoticed
Well dressed
No thanks to the hibernation times

Always instead to spume your fine perfume
Or phrase your dusted past
Onto the pictures of our pastured pavements


This poem is from the pamphlet Rainbows On My Spectacles - Love Through a Lens
To see the complete collection click anywhere on this text

Imperfect Words

Mown grass cut in crooked lines
She finds her beauty in the painter’s eye
There by the water butt & the buzzing fly

Twisted bark and washing lines
Drying out the nearly nigh on summer
Starched collars and double cuffs

A uniform to bluff the chuffs you must
Just now and then disapprove of
A lazy space; a place to phase

A future resurrection, a collection filed under
Imperfect words, absurd to think that they
Make you smile, while all  the while

The workmen wonder
Thunder rolls, ramblers stroll
All for the love of someone East of Clumber

Lumberjacks and rookies hats
Right on mountains, with fountains
To the sea, through the waterfalls

Seats in the operatic stalls
Hold all the calls
For then you’ll see

The mown grass
The fir pined tree
The painter man - and me


This poem is from the pamphlet Rainbows On My Spectacles - Love Through a Lens
To see the complete collection click anywhere on this text

Peaceful Deflection

Crimson in bloom
Right beside the buttercup
A fair distance
From the pampas grass

Or the overhead
Twin propelled
Airships
Aeronautical extravaganzas

A little closer
A good deal closer
With closed petals
And

The touch of silk
Colours
Of the oriental
Sunrise

Escape from
Thistles throttled
Bottled scent worn
On special days

And Saturdays
And always
Worn always
When in love

I sprinkle dry grass
On my cotton
Sweatshirt
To see the grasses

Shadowed patterns
& to see the
Sparkle of the sunlight’s
Rainbows on my spectacles

Smell of fresh grass
Smell of dead grass
Aroma of peaceful
Deflection in sunshine time

Of late afternoons
Later more than mornings

Before the day sets, with the
Dance of the evening primrose

Long thin grasses waive and bend
The heat’s rays it seems defeats them
Thankful for the breeze
With her soft fingers

She tends them
Lends them back a life
She stands them up to be
Once more erect


This poem is from the pamphlet Rainbows On My Spectacles - Love Through a Lens
To see the complete collection click anywhere on this text

Worn Sweat

Into the early morning
Not far in time to sleep
Deep dreams
Horizons and sunsets

Escape or creep back
As if to the Inchcape
There far from the west
Of wayward slumbers

Up and over the brow
Boldly off the Wolds
Off the clay and chalk
Off the sleep time talk

& the bare, fair set
Mazy wanderings

Up and over the treetops
Torn away from the trunk
Ripped off the branch
And the twig and skunk

Of the night time
Cigarette
The scared
Worn sweat

Which bared those unfair
& crazy wanderings


This poem didn't quite make it into the collection Rainbows On My Spectacles - Love Through a Lens
To see what did click anywhere on this text

Onwards sprinkled poppies

In the seventh summer
Slip, I dipped on the
Trip to pink flamingos

Now my seventeenth number
Flip, I’m clipped on the
Strip of fairway gringos

In between the innocence & the heartache
What seems the green grass, the second class
The mother, the child, the both without a father

In their seven rows
Strips of once wild poppies
Nipped in bud, for the county flower show

Now my seventeen insecurities
Drip into my shattered mind
Rainy days; the sipped sour wine of impunity

In between the hazel & the hedgerow
What seems the pasture, swift past rapture
The other, the wild, the both without hope, rather

To be in the seventh seventeenth summer
Somewhere between home & away & eternity
Graveyards & birthplace; endless, timeless journey

Trips to pink flamingos
Stripped bare the fair play gringo’s; swathes
That wave, rave on - onwards sprinkled poppies


This poem didn't quite make it into the collection Rainbows On My Spectacles - Love Through a Lens
To see what did click anywhere on this text